


That Casual Intimacy

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Hair, M/M, Mutual Pining, On Set
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The long hair, it takes some getting used to.





	That Casual Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Washing (washing one's partner, body or hair; bubble baths)

The long hair, it takes some getting used to. 

It’s not like Seb’s never had to use product before or a hair dryer, but having strands that hit his shoulders, sweep past his ears, just straight up feels strange. His head feels heavier for one thing and it feels like somebody’s constantly whispering against the back of his neck. Either that, or there’s a bug. It’s an odd sensation, that’s all.

When he fusses about it on set--good-naturedly, but still--Scarlett shoots ponytail holders at his face between takes and Mackie, he makes a big show of rubbing his neatly shorn head on Sebastian’s shoulder, yakking about how much of a pain it must be, carrying a bird’s nest around on his head and is Seb sure he didn’t steal Hiddleston’s wig? He yanks at Seb’s curls a lot, just to be sure.

Chris is the only one who stays quiet about it, who doesn’t have a dozen jokes at the ready. Oh, he gives Seb endless crap about other stuff--how terrible his favorite Champions League team is this year, some interview he gave in Japan, the color of Bucky’s new boots--but cracks about the hair? He’s got none.

Seb doesn’t think anything of it until the night he starts to get a clue why.

They’re in Chris’ trailer, burning a rest break. It’s unscheduled--something about a row of klieg lights that won’t cooperate--so they’re not drinking anything stronger than water, though Sebastian is dying to sneak a beer, one of the gorgeous microbrew things hidden in Chris’ fridge behind the fruit and yogurt and almond milk.

They’re on call but not scheduled for anymore scenes tonight--this morning? Fuck. Time's a confusing construct in movieland--so technically, Seb could make a good case for that beer. Maybe two. But Chris is twitchy. His hands are flying everywhere as he talks, the words pouring out in a flood, and he’s not, so far as Seb can tell, actually saying a goddamn thing. Not that Chris is a shrinking violet ever, but when he opens his mouth, it’s usually with a purpose; Seb can’t remember the last time Chris rambled on just to hear himself talk. That’s way more Mackie’s MO.

It’s weird, sure, but they’ve also been on set for what seems like half their natural lives. He’s probably tired, Seb figures, settling back into the small couch beside Chris. The guy gets weird when he hasn’t had enough sleep. Once, in Cleveland, he started hallucinating, he was so beat, and Seb had to raise his voice at a Russo to get them to pack it in for the night. He’d half dragged Chris to wardrobe, let them manhandle him out of his Cap, then herded him to the car service and made him stretch out on the seat, his head in Seb’s lap. Chris had snored the whole way back, one hand closed gently around Seb’s knee. He remembered that feeling, that casual intimacy, the warm of Chris’ body against his, the rough smell of his sweat, the creak of the leather seats, and some part of him, if he was honest, had spent the past two years trying to figure out how to find a moment like that again.


End file.
